Poly(game)y

Throughout my life, I had only heard the phrase a couple of times. I never really cared or associated myself. It wasn't until I had stood up to shake hands with a woman and she had announced herself as "The First Wife" that I realized my life wasn't quite normal. Later on, I had happen to become quite close with her - throughout the luxurious parties and rich wine - to which always had a certain palette: oak, wood, smoked, etc. I never called myself a wine snob, though surrounded by many. I never had to pour my own glass either. It was luxurious - but luxury only goes so far before you discover a painful divide between the mind of sanity and sociopath.

I was quite young when I discovered that my mother was a polygamist wife. Though not my real mother, it still meant a great deal. I had no idea what I was getting myself into. It was seductive though, knowing that my life wasn't like the person sitting next to me. I had a secret and even though it was a common thing throughout the state, it was one of those topics you really only heard about. I had an inside scoop and I was about to go through a rabbit hole only to be spit out to a spinning world of deceit and deception.

Memory is a weird thing. You could be living in a moment of such beauty and happiness only to have it twisted in such a way that years looking back on it will have you up at night wondering how you could be so naive - which is a word I use to describe myself often. I am naive, even though there was so much I could've done about it when I was younger. I was adopted when I was 5 years old. Torn apart from my mother by the police after a terrible accident. Although not really an accident because it was a common occurrence for my mother to leave for hours on end when I had no food or water. Common for her to become intoxicated almost every night. Common to be passed out on a steering wheel after just crashing into a fence with her three year old daughter in the front seat. I suppose being naive is my way of coping.

Throughout my time in foster care, though, I developed a strong sense of myself and who I wanted to be. I have always wanted something more than there is in this life. I used to spend my days dreaming of luxurious parties, growing relationships, gorgeous architecture and features imported from different countries. I know that isn't the typical mind of a child coming out of foster care, but I knew I wanted more. Being adopted by a single women with no money living in a trailer in the middle of nowhere wasn't my idea of luxury. But there was one thing that I missed growing up, she was in on the secret too.

It came and went fast, my three years in the polygamy lifestyle. I had an inside source to which blows my mind to this day. After finding the revealing letter that my mother kept in secret of her life as a polygamist wife, I started asking questions. I started snooping around and soon got my nose into things I wish I hadn't. Keep in mind that I was adopted. The only strange thing is that I also found out that my birth mother and the lady that adopted me were family also: aunt and niece. And what's worse, my birth mother was also adopted. Something strange was going on and I had to figure out what it was.

Let me start at the beginning. Once I figured out that my mother (to which I will call the lady who adopted me) was a polygamist wife, she opened up about her whole life and introduced me to an entire hidden city of polygamist civilization. Every person there was either a polygamist or in a polygamist family. An entire city. A small city, but I still couldn't believe it. Now if you don't know how polygamy works, it revolves around the FLDS religion and there are different hierarchies on where you stand here on earth and after death. I am not going to pretend how it works, but throughout my time there, I had a pretty good understanding and I will just tell you, religious is not the right word.

Speaking of hierarchies, it appeared that there was one man at the center of everything here. A great man who owned many properties, many businesses, and had his own dynasty. This man was a self made billionaire in his own right. Very humble, very powerful. It wasn't until I was in his house I first took eyes with him as he greeted me into the luxurious hallway of marble to an entrance of a beautiful party. And to which I met his wife, the one I spoke of earlier who introduced herself as "The First Wife". This house was 33,000 sq. ft., this man had 68 children at the time, one of the richest men in the nation, and I found out that I am his sister.

I was well welcomed into the home of this family as it was that I was someone of a long-lost family member just discovering what my life was. I grew up thinking I was no one and had no family. I grew up an only-child. You can image how overwhelming it must have been, but it was only the beginning. Over the course of time, my life began spinning as my morales and judgement of everything I ever knew would change. I will admit, I am quick to conform to my surroundings, but I felt I had a reason to. This was my secret and I wasn't going to turn it away. That night, I was poured the most luxurious wine, overlooking a beautiful orchard, with talk of politics, great leaders, art, and culture. I was in love. I couldn't look away. And it happened every single night. These people were powerful, you could feel it.

After a while, I was so engrained into this lifestyle, that the religion had crept up on me and I began to accept things as they were. Having multiple wives is normal, having 30+ siblings is a great thing, being raised by 17 moms was just how life was and it was easier that way. I even found myself wanting to live that life forever and never look back at the real world. Although, it wasn't long until I found out the truth. The children. The moms. How it actually affected them. How it slowly turned them into narcissistic, arrogant, and sociopathic personalities. Many of whom didn't know, but were just trying to cope with the reality of what was actually happening. I loved these people. But I saw exactly what was going on, but not until this world sent me down a path of depression, anxiety, and two weeks in the hospital after trying to commit suicide.

It didn't quite make sense though. Ever mom smiled, ever child laughed. Everyone loved their religion and got along well. We partied and shared luxurious wine. There was never a short supply. The dresses were long and made of lace, while the men talked of their travels, planes, and adventures. So how could you tell who was hurting? Everyone was, and it was only until you entrapped one in a conversation of drink and their real life. They were hurting, their eyes clearly showed that. This town was one filled of deception and jealousy. Jealousy of mothers, jealousy of children, jealousy of the one wife that caught the eye of the polygamist man. The only man.

In my experience, I could write pages. The thing that gets me is how closed they are to society and how open they are to the insiders. I was an insider, and I saw everything. What's worse, I fell for it - the only difference is that I wasn't a wive. But there were multiple loves, and it was okay. Up until it wasn't. Up until the jealousy hit and the wine glass broke, shattered by my hand. I couldn't live like that anymore. Yes it was beautiful and mysterious and my secret. But it was a dark secret. The people that are born into it who stay and the people that escape have no difference. The religion of their soul will remain with them until they die. To me, I am indifferent. I will always love the part of my life that I got to see as a polygamist society, but loathe the part of me that conformed to any piece of it. To anyone who knows, I do not regret, and always love, but will have no more. Ever again.